Weddings

Officiating wedding ceremonies is an enjoyable experience for me and hopefully, for the couples that have hired me.  This week I have been invited to perform a special service in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands.  I have never been there and the prospect is quite exciting.   I will be staying with the other guests in a large villa on the secluded side of the island – they’ve hired a chef – oh please … pinch me : )

As I draft the words for the couple, what they will say, what I will say, I gain a deeper understanding that the ritual of marriage is one of the joyous moments in life’s journey.  I have discovered that serving as officiate adds zest to my life as well as reminding me the importance of love.   Most of us know this – love is all there is (Beatles) - but troubles and challenges often absorb our energy – our focus becomes blurred.  We forget. 

What I have witnessed at the moment of union when the betrothed gaze into the eyes of their beloved, join hands and repeat their vow is a spiritual beauty, an aura, or a presence, if you will, that embraces all of us in attendance with love.  This emotion can be felt; there is a momentary hush among the onlookers as the man extends his heart to protect and honor the woman before him.  She knows that she is his girlfriend and more…she is cherished.   

In my last post, I quoted a scene from the movie:  P.S. I love You.  I am going to use that movie dialogue again.  The main character Holly is strolling along the water’s edge with Daniel when a senior couple stops near them to also enjoy the view.  Holly and Daniel are eating and laughing when Holly makes an observation about the older couple.

Holly:  That’s a real honest to goodness couple right there.  They’ve probably been together since the flood.

Daniel:  We’re so arrogant, aren’t we?  So afraid of age, we do everything we can to prevent it.  We don’t realize what a privilege it is to grow old with someone.  Someone who doesn’t drive you to commit murder or doesn’t humiliate you beyond repair.

Ahhhh...call me a romantic…I don’t care.  In a world where many folks are not making commitments, selfishly worried about what they may give up or what they need to get; I feel honored that there are men and women who cherish each other enough to take this important step and, this is the fun part, ask me to oversee this promise.  All of us who witness such vows have a duty to support and encourage the couple.   It is a privilege.

P.S. What Do Women Want?

Each morning I sit with a cup of coffee in a location where I can enjoy watching the birds feed on the oiled sunflower seeds that I put out.  It doesn’t take much observation to understand that within the species of birds, there are defined roles for the male and the female.  They know instinctively their place.  Humans are more complicated and I believe confused with gender roles.

Let me share an example.  Yesterday I was sitting next to one of my grandsons in the bleachers at a baseball game.  In my peripheral vision I saw a man approaching and all though quite a distance away, I recognized a friend.  I commented to my grandson that he was probably coming over to greet us and that it was the right thing to do to extend his right hand and say hello when greeting another male.  I explained that it was an action that was appropriate much like opening doors for women.  These actions are polite and respectable for a man to do.  He took this information in stride and when my friend arrived he put his hand out and said hello. 

Later, a man (about 45) seated next to my grandson – a stranger – commented, “I am glad to hear you say that … that a man should be opening doors for women.  I tell my son that too.”

Reflecting on that event this morning as I view the bird couples, I realize in my world the roles of men and women are often a mystery.   I believe that emotionally a female has a spot in her heart that longs for a strong male, one who not only sexually pleases her but one who supports her emotionally.   Of course, she should exhibit the same qualities and behavior toward him … she sexually pleases him, she demonstrates respect towards him and considers him her best friend.  The exception between a man and a woman is that he is the protector.  The upper body strength of the male is in most cases, designed to be stronger than a female.  This is a physiological fact.  He is intended to be the defender of his family.

I know that growing up without a father and also during the tumultuous 60’s and 70’s have contributed to my not having this baseline information established in my psyche.   I have observed that a lot of men and women aside from me also seem baffled about the importance of a strong man in their life.

There is a scene in the movie 'PS I love You' that makes me laugh.  Daniel (Harry Connick Jr.) is having a conversation with Holly (Hillary Swank) in a bar.  He asks her out and she gently turns him down.  He turns to leave and then abruptly turns back to her and blurts out:

Daniel:  I don’t mean to throw this at you from left field, but what do women want?  I mean, I can’t figure it out.  They want us to ask; they don’t want us to ask; they want us to make a move, not make a move.  They want us to be on bottom; they want us to be on top.  Use hair products, don’t use hair products.  What do you people want?

Holly:  I’ll tell you.  But, you have to promise not to say I told you.

Daniel:  I… I swear.

Holly:  Because it’s a sacred secret.

Daniel:  A sacred secret.

Holly:  You ready?

Daniel:  Yeah.  (He leans in close to her.)

Holly:  You sure?

Daniel:  I think so.

Holly:  (whispering)  We have absolutely no idea what we want.

Daniel:  I knew it!

A funny scene but, I believe, inaccurate.  Instinctively, unlike this movie dialogue, both sexes know what they want in a committed relationship. I want my grandsons to know what I believe a woman wants and admires. 

As I watch the Cardinals at the bird feeder, I have been given a visual confirmation of the explicate role that I admire in a male.  He is bright red compared to her equally beautiful but subdued coloring of tan with red in her wings, tail, and crest.  The male bird is always there with her, sometimes on the tree branch above but he is watching out for her.  If another bird seems to be a threat, he immediately flies to her.  He is territorial ... her protector.  I have never seen a male bird attacking his mate ... not ever.  I have never seen her attacking him ... never.

To my way of thinking, the human world is all upside down and topsy-turvy.  Neither men nor women know their role.  Being the stronger does not mean the man should demean his mate nor should woman put down her man.  From my experience, a woman wants a faithful lover, champion and best friend.

Our natural instinctive need for sex has been fueled by the media to a point where this powerful energy has been used against us.  We want sexual intimacy without reflecting on the ability of the person we partner with to cherish us and likewise, for the female to be able to respect and cherish the man.  If that is not happening before marriage, I have never witnessed a couple changing.  They are both disappointed - either openly or secretively. 

If only we could clear out our past experiences and media promoted confusion to enjoy femininity and maleness as nature intended.  The birds seem to have this right.  Little boys also seem to instinctively know this ... I'd like my grandchildren keep this truth.  Perhaps with understanding their role, they can select a mate and together create joy.

Luminosity

There is a beautiful half moon in Cheboygan, Michigan tonight; no traffic except for me … human traffic walking briskly on an empty sidewalk at 10:30 p.m.   I am alone and I feel safe.  The quiet is clean, inspiring and fresh.   My brain seems to be static with an extra snap … snap …. Synapse.     I am ready for this; I am listening … hide it under a bushel … no.  Instead, shine girl, let it shine.   

Father's Day

The accidental death of my dad occurred when I was six years old.  That traumatic loss left a gap, an emotional hole in my heart that has never repaired.  I am damaged goods; and, I have learned, so are most people in one way or another.  (I have not met, to date, a person spared from an affliction caused by a past experience with another person.)

Today I want to thank the men in life that have kindly stood by me through daily struggles, understanding the necessity for me to have a strong, compassionate male … fair or not fair has not been debated with me … they have taken on the role as friend and protector.

I lost one special friend this past year who demonstrated character and integrity always toward me. I know that he was a blessing.  When I grappled with an issue, he would say:  “Straighten your back and do what is right for you.”   He never said I was wrong (although most often I was : ).  He was neither offended nor indignant by my divergent point of view.  He liked me as I was and told me so. 

Not a day goes by that something he has said to me throughout my years of knowing him as friend does not pop into awareness.  I can only hope that when I am gone, someone can say the same about me.    

Home Run

After registering to take Physics this past January, an acquaintance challenged me by remarking:  “I’d be surprised if you got a “B” in a college level physics course.”  That comment has controlled me throughout the semester, driving me to study when I did not feel like it.  I know, silly and vain that I had the need to disprove this declaration questioning my ability… but competition reared within me.  I worked hard; I studied many hours.

Physic 051 is complete, final exam taken, and I have been anxiously waiting for the final grade posting.  The professor said that grades would take a couple of weeks to show up on Blackboard, the electronic communication system used by the college.  Needless to say, I have not demonstrated patience and have accessed my student number several times only to learn that he was right … grading still not announced.

On Saturday, I spent the afternoon watching a girl’s softball tournament that my granddaughter played in.  She is a good player and exuberant about her ability.  After slugging a line drive for a home run, I heard her voice congratulating herself in the dug-out, “Wasn’t that an awesome home run!”  And after checking the line-up for field positions,  I heard the familiar jovial voice proclaim, “Guess who gets to play first base?” 

This has been her first season as a ball player and I believe she is surprised that she can contribute.  Also, her coach thinks so too.   Her enthusiasm made me laugh … such innocence.   Of course, I am from the 50’s – I have never played a team sport, but thought a little lesson in humbleness was in order.

On the way home, I said, “I loved watching you play.  I can tell that you care about the game and truly put an effort into helping your team achieve the win.”

“I am good at it,” she smiled while her eyes twinkled.

We talked a bit about the game and then I commented, “Do you want to know a secret?”

“What?”

“A life secret … something that I have observed…”

“Sure,”   there was a hint of hesitancy in her voice.

I continued, “Let every compliment about your performance come out of someone else’s mouth.  It will mean more.” 

I didn’t drive the point home any further.  I was pleased that she did seem to get what I was trying to say.  At least, she was quiet for a moment considering the remark before chattering the rest of the way home. 

Later, she asked to spend the night, then her brother wanted to spend the night, and another grandson found out making it a sleepover of three.  (“Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go!”)  That evening,  my granddaughter was busy painting a picture while the boys were playing a game on their laptops.  Both little guys thrilled that I had entered the 21^st century and finally (their words) purchased the Verizon jet pack so they could use a wireless connection to play against each other.  I took the moment, everyone involved in their own stuff, to check if my Physics grade had been publicized.

Viola!  Posted: Susan McCoy Physics:   4.0.

Yes, I did a happy dance, actually squealing, “Hey guys look at this!”  The boys, always interested in anything on a computer, ran to look over my shoulder.

“Look, 4.0 in Physics … I’m brilliant!”

They laughed, me still dancing in glee when my granddaughter looked up from her painting project, a “gottcha” smile on her face.

“Grandma, can I share a secret? “

Oops, I Made a Mistake.

Last Saturday, I took a short 3 mile day hike in Kensington with a group of bird enthusiasts.  I have been in the park several times to view the Sandhill cranes this spring and was embarrassed to find out, from Saturdays' hiking guide, that the nests I believed were made by Sandhill Cranes are actually nests of the Great Blue Heron.  I have reworked that particular chapter in the book I am working on and thought I should also share with you since I posted that excerpt on the blog site.
Sandhill Cranes are private and build their nests on the ground in the marsh.  I have sat on the park bench and watched those birds several times but the trees are just far enough away that I could not make out the color details (physics has helped me understand that reflection, refraction, focal point of image all play into the tricks my eyes can play when I let my mind work overtime).  The Blue Heron has a large size but shape, beak, and color are very different from the cranes I love to watch in the marsh.  I apologize for this careless mistake.


Another quick update:  My physics final is Thursday … still holding on to my “A” and I am very proud of myself.  I find the Math fascinating and have discovered that I “get it”.  There is so much going on in the invisible world of electromagnetic fields, wavelengths, light, charges, chemical reactions, atoms, electrons … okay, I’ll stop.  I have been told that I can be a nerd.  I am proud of that too.

Newton's First Law

This excerpt is from the novel I am currently working on.  The main character, Madison, has parked her car and is walking toward an established rural cemetery located on a hilltop surrounded by a protected wetland.

In contrast to her mood, she could not help but notice that nature was surging with the potential energy of life ready to burst.  Michigan’s early crocus had already poked through the half frozen ground – yellows and purples -  colorful, small flowers in brilliant shades, each bloom emanating loudly that yes, they were the precursors to full blown spring.   Buds formed into plump, red nodes on the Maples lining the side of the path.   Geese clamored at each other from the adjacent wetland area.  Honk … honk … an unpleasant sound in comparison to the trumpet repetition of the Sandhill Cranes that also inhabited the marshy area.  Kar-r-r-roo, kar-r-r-roo … their purring karrrroo call reminded her of the rolling ‘r’ in the French language.  She had recently returned from France and her struggle to communicate using the correct intonations of the local language had been difficult … well, not difficult, unsuccessful would be a better descriptor.   Although home, state side … seeing the cranes brought back memories of France, each thought a wave, undulating through her mind, bringing forth a conscious reflection of the French countryside.

From the thicket of the marsh, a crane duet reached a crescendo, seemingly begging her to delay her climb to the grave site and instead, walk closer to the water’s edge.  What matter the delay?  He was not there – and,  within her belief system, there was more probability that he could be honored by watching the birds; yes, more hope in that act than paying homage to a mound of dirt.   And … it did not matter where she was, location was only geography … the hurt traveled with her. 

Several cranes flew overhead but it was the continued harmonizing sounds from the brush that caused her to change direction.   After a few moments of concentrated study, she spotted the couple; their earthy tint was a perfect camouflage allowing them to hide from her in the wild fountain grass and dried cattails.  No green on the marsh as yet ... most plant life was still dormant.   How could she have missed them?   She marveled at their magnificent prehistoric size.

 There were only two birds; a lot of melody for only two, she thought.  Unlike most birds in which the male was easy to spot because his color shouted – yes, I am the male; both of these Sandhills were similar in markings, other than size, she could not tell them apart – a blend of grays and brown.  After stepping closer to get a better look, she decided that the female must be the smaller crane.  Small was an understatement though, each bird was over four feet tall and both had a brilliant rusty, red forehead.  Really, you guys are quite flamboyant.  

Taking the apartment last year in France, had kept her from enjoying Michigan’s spring.  Living abroad had carried the hope to write herself into a place where she could emotionally live and forget.  That intent had been as unsuccessful as her endeavor to master the rolling ‘r’ sound of the French tongue.  

With each step into the marsh, she broke through the thin, brittle layer of ice still clinging to the edges of the swamp until; finally, she stopped unable to go any further without soaking her hiking boots. 

 In the center of the water, a group of tall trees protruded from an insignificant clump of land.  This region was a protected nesting area for the Sandhills under the jurisdiction of the metro-park authority.  With the branches still naked, only the buds made the promise of forthcoming leaves, the unusually large crane nests were exposed.   In the topmost branches, she counted ten ... there were ten nests.   

“Wow,” she whispered. 

At that moment, a crane flew toward the treetop breeding area.  The head of the bird and its long neck were tucked into the sizeable body as it flew while the legs dragged horizontally behind.   Large wings (over six feet expanse) carried all of the weight gracefully to a stop.  Whoosh … whoosh …  it momentarily hovered before straightening its long, black legs to a vertical position to land on a limb, which, from where she stood, appeared too fragile to hold the splendid bird. 

These large winged species brought to mind the enormous Storks of France, also a symbol of spring.  While wandering medieval cities, she had often spotted an oversized nest high in the ramparts. Those nests had not seemed out of place on a castle wall; different here in Michigan where history was not a constant reminder.   From the window in her apartment in Colmar, a city in the Alsace region, she had been privy to a direct view of a stork nest located on the top of a medieval church.  The narrow street between her apartment and the rooftop made it possible for a very close observation of the mother feeding her young. 

Out in the marsh, she again caught sight of the singing couple; they had moved quite a distance away from her.  A Sandhill Crane could be nature’s pallet for the blends and hues of khaki and gray.  Subtle shades, with the bright red forehead, white cheeks and a long dark beak.  The birds walked through the brush slowly; carefully lifting each foot, knee joint bending back like a human elbow and then extending the three pronged foot forward.  The female stayed a short distance behind the male, both easily maneuvering through the dry stalks surrounded by mini patches of snow.  They would stop often, no hurry to their stroll, often the kar…rr...oo communication would take place:  kar...rroo – the male once; the female answered – kar...rroo, kar...rroo.  She knew the birds mated for life and both parents attended the young colt (the newborn bird) for several months.  That had been her intent too … to mate for life.

She continued walking around the marsh edge while keeping the cranes in sight.  The ground was still frozen below the surface, a bit spongy for about an inch but then firm.  Within a couple of weeks the edge of the bog would turn into a muddy mess.   Spring would open to summer– that was a constant – after winter there was always spring.  The birds were another of nature’s invariables –– each year the birds returned.   That too was geography.